Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
My core pulses in reaction to the way his eyes hold mine after he licks me up and down with his gaze. I blink a little too long and imagine his tongue lapping at my bare sex. I’m winded, my skin hot and needy from the electric shock of that one image, imagining that one thought.
No way. I am not fantasizing about a cold-blooded killer who said it made sense to exterminate my dad. I don’t want his hands on me, his mouth on me. He can go fuck himself, the arrogant jerk. I’m not flirting with him because he could forgive the sixteen thousand. That’s never going to happen, for one thing. And two, he hasn’t said anything to indicate that I need to prostitute myself to satisfy the debt.
Extreme stress and fear have made me mentally incapacitated. I shouldn’t make decisions, sign legal documents, or operate heavy machinery right now because I’m under the influence of Jack Marino. Despite his reputation, something inside him calls to me, and I can’t resist it.
Since I’m not that kind of girl, I decide to hold my ground. I’m not going to scamper away like a frightened bunny just because he gives me a sexy look that he’s probably leveled at a hundred other women today. If I can persuade this guy to like me enough, he might release my dad from what he owes. But there’s a lot riding on any attempt I make to win him over.
Instead of going in to kiss him or try to look vulnerable and sad in an appealing way, I walk away for tonight. Just stick with the current, unsatisfactory deal that he offered me. Tomorrow he can come back and see me here right on time for my shift, serious about working off the debt, and then he can admire my scrappiness. I’ll bring him a drink. We can banter and flirt a little more. Maybe he’s right and I’m a gambler at heart, because even though I don’t want to risk anything, I have to play if I want to win my father’s life back from Jack Marino’s clutches.
He profits off predatory lending practices and illegal gaming—the exact bait for a trap to snare my own father. Reprehensible is the nicest thing I’d call him. It seems like I can despise everything he stands for from his arrogance to his wealth, but thanks to chemistry or hereditary bad judgment, I have what Caylee calls ‘pants feelings’ for him. To be exact, my entire body throbs with physical yearning for this man.
In the lull between orders while the men at the bar mostly seem to be gambling on some poker app, I introduce myself to Foz.
“It’s nice of you to let me work a shift tonight while I figure out what to do.”
“Boyfriend or husband?” he asks making change for a customer and shutting the register drawer.
“Dad,” I say.
“Hate to hear that. When it’s a boyfriend, you got a choice in the matter. Family’s family though, am I right?”
“A hundred percent,” I answer, liking Foz even more. He has the grizzled look of an old timer, pouches under his eyes and the sallow coloring of a man who works nights and sleeps during the light of day, but he has a grandpa vibe I can’t explain.
“Lucky for you the boss is here. Ronnie? He’d tell you to get lost. Poor bastard.”
“The guy with the surgery? I hope he gets better,” I say, although I’m not sure why I care if the man who probably ordered my dad’s beating recovers from his operation or not.
“They got it pretty early. I don’t think he woulda took more than two days off if the boss hadn’t insisted. Jacky can be a real prick if you argue with him, just like his dad, God rest his soul.”
I look at Foz expecting irony, but he’s serious, he actually thinks Jack’s dad, the infamous Alfredo Marino, is with God. I’m pretty sure the old man’s definitely spending some time in a much hotter place than heaven.
“So, Ronnie is the guy who usually runs this place?” I venture.
“Yeah, but he’s not the bookie. He ain’t the one that your old man got mixed up with,” he offers. “That’d be Philly Shapiro. He’ll be in later tonight, open for business and ready to settle up if there’s winners in the house—that’s the time you oughta be serving the drinks here. One of these guys ever wins anything he’s gonna buy a round on the house and throw some tips down to celebrate.”
“I don’t get it. I never have,” I admit. “If I won big, I’d take the money and run, not give it right back to the guy I owed in the first place.”
“Hey, I got kids of my own, some hate what I do and where I do it. They want their old man out of this place, cause it hurts their pride for me to go on workin’ here. But I grew up around this joint and it’s where I feel at home. Don’t get me wrong, I used to bet on the ponies a little too much but I never had it bad like these ones. I didn’t get sucked under by it. Thing is, I tell my sons, your old dad ain’t any better than the guys I serve beer to every night. You make a mistake if you think you’re above them, just cause your weakness is something different.”